


Longer than an emo band title

by mattysones



Category: South Park
Genre: F/M, M/M, THIS FIC IS STUPID AND YOU SHOULDN'T TAKE IT SERIOUSLY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-17 10:50:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1384852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattysones/pseuds/mattysones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You fuckers ruined my tent" and other Stick of Truth stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is planned to be an experimental story setting the Stick of Truth as both in-universe, and the boys playing a game. This is just sort of the short fic that set off the idea.

"Bring the traitor!" King Cartman bellowed from his throne in the war tent. The tiki torches to either side of him were lit, casting ominous shadows across the ground.

A brief scuffle was heard before the flaps to the tent were pushed aside and Clyde was dragged in by Token and Tweek. Clyde was thrown down onto his knees, hands tied behind his back. His face was dirty from whatever fight he had given.

"Well, well, well," Cartman smirked imperiously, "WELL. What have we here, NECROMANCER?"

Clyde glared up at Cartman while still managing to look terrified, "It's not fair, you have more people."

Cartman mimicked him in high-pitched squeal, "Meh meh mehhh, shut up Clyde. Not so brave without your thief to back you up?" Cartman smirked and lounged with his chin in his fist, "You look good down there Clyde, you've always been a bitch."

"You've always been a fatass," Clyde shot back.

Cartman's face went blank with rage, "Ahem. Token, if you please?"

Token smacked Clyde upside the head, just hard enough to sting. Clyde yelped.

Cartman hummed and leaned back, pleased, "Now, we're just waiting for my faithful paladin..."

As if on cue, Butters shuffled in carrying an overflowing plastic basket.

"I wasn't really sure what you were looking for," Butters chattered as he presented the basket to Cartman, "So I grabbed anything that looked a bit scary."

"What's that?" Clyde said in a deadpan.

"You know the penalty for treason is death, Clyde," Cartman gloated, rummaging through the basket. He inspected a deadly-looking whisk, "But since you're a necromancer I figure you can't die, so torture is the next best option."

"Wait," Clyde struggled to stand but Tweek pushed him back, "You guys," he pleaded, "He'll actually do it."

Cartman pulled out a whip, "Oh yeah, that's good," he murmured. He inspected the thin length of leather, "Where'd you get this?"

Butters peered from his spot by Cartman's left hand side, "Oh, your mom's room. It was just laying out."

"Ug," A disturbed expression passed before his face split into a grin, "All the more diabolical," Cartman chortled. He flicked the whip with a satisfying snap.

Clyde's eyes starting watering, "Don't hit me! You'll make me bleed."

"It's a punishment," Cartman sneered, standing and playing with the whip, "Unless, hmm..." He tapped the handle against his wobbly chin, "I guess I could let you off easy if you suck my balls."

"What," Clyde said.

Cartman's eyes gleamed, "Suck my balls, mister Donovan, and I'll let you go."

Distantly, there was a faint cry of outrage.

"I'm not sucking your balls," Clyde said, but still looked worried, "And you're not hitting me. Think of something else."

Butters pressed his knuckles together, "Maybe we shouldn't go so far, Eric."

Cartman scowled and tapped Butters' temple with the whip's handle, "Silence! It's King Cartman, and you may be merciful but I am not."

"Only you would need a safe word with this game," Clyde wailed.

"Uh, guys," Token was looking upward.

"It's either suck my balls or," Cartman stopped to think, "THREE-HUNDRED LASHINGS MUWAHAHA."

Tweek was also looking upward, and twitched out a "Jesus!" before the war tent's ceiling sagged and a disgruntled, "Fuck! Kyle!" filtered through what appeared to be an epic wrestling match atop the tent.

"He'll do it, you know he fucking will!" was followed by a great ripping sound and Kyle and Stan fell through the ceiling with a violent thunk.

"YOU FUCKERS RUINED MY TENT," Cartman shrieked while Kyle and Stan scrambled to stand.

Kyle still had plenty of fight in him, wooden crown askew and wielding a small pocket knife, "I won't let you humiliate my allies!" He screamed, looking ready to go for Cartman's jugular.

Tweek and Token shared a glance.

"You wanna go get milkshakes?" Token asked.

Tweek's eye twitched, "I sorta wanna see how this - Ah! - plays out."

"Kyle, calm down," Stan tried to interject, "You already ruined the plan."

"Ah hah!" Cartman crowed, pointing victoriously, "I knew it Clyde. You're a super traitor."

"Clyde didn't super betray anyone," Kyle drew himself to his fullest height, dusting off his robes, "Craig struck a deal with us," Kyle smirked.

("It's Feldspar," an unhappy monotone could be heard. The voice was unanimously ignored.)

"Cartman," Token said flatly from the background.

Cartman turned red with disbelief, "Then Craig's the traitor?"

Kyle laughed smugly, "Hard to betray someone you don't work for. He's always worked for Clyde."

Cartman stopped pretending to be offended and frowned, thinking about the shocking turn of events, "No, then they're both traitors. They both worked for me."

"Hey guys," Token tried again. Tweek covered his mouth when he almost laughed.

"Yeah," Kyle conceded, thinking of the situation, "But Craig has always been Clyde's loyal subject, so only Clyde's the traitor."

("Feldspar.")

"That definitely makes them both traitors!"

"Holy shit," Stan groaned from behind Kyle. He fell into a fighting stance with his sword, "This is a coup! Together the necromancer and elves' magic are too much for you, King Cartman!"

Cartman fell back into character, "I only see a two weaklings and a dirty human," he sneered, "What power have you over me?" Cartman stood, adopting a fighting stance with his lighter in hand.

"Shows what you know," Kyle gloated, "While you were distracted, the Stick of Truth became ours."

"What?" Cartman turned to see where the Stick usually resided, and sure enough it was gone.

"HOW," Cartman raged.

"Craig snuck under the - ah! - tent," Tweek announced, "While you were busy m-monologuing with Kyle."

Cartman shook his chubby fist at the sky, which was exposed because of the torn tent roof, "CURSE YOU CRAFTY ELVES."

"That's right," Kyle murmured, eyes half-lidded with pleasure, "Scream for me you fat, stupid, piggy."

The battle which followed was grand, with many acts of bravery and cowardice. The outcome was close, do to the flighty nature of the Vamp kids, per se, but King Kyle's elves were victorious by a narrow margin.

"My loyal bard, Jimmy," Kyle said after the battle. Jimmy was pretty worn himself, leaning heavily against his crutches, "The night grows late, but bring me Craig and Clyde tomorrow," he grinned viciously, "They were with us tonight, but I don't trust them not to leave for a better price."

"O-o-o-of c...ourse. Kyle," Jimmy said, "I will have my men on them like f-flies on shi. S-sh i-i-i. Like flies on sh. Shi -i-i-i. Flies on shit."

"Thanks Jimmy," Kyle said wearily. He turned to Stan, "Come with me, ranger. We have much to discuss."

The discussion ended up being about what kind of pizza to order, but midway through watching one of Sheila's fashion shows on TiVo (Neither would admit to enjoying) Kyle noticed Stan getting the dazed look he got when he was thinking.

"What?" Kyle asked.

Stan gave him a wide-eyed look, still half chewing his pizza, "Ah," he swallowed his pizza, "I was just wondering what you're planning on doing with Craig and Clyde?"

Kyle paused to think, "Probably threaten to torture them or..." Kyle broke into a devious grin, "I'll get Jimmy to kidnap Craig's guinea pig as collateral for their continuing loyalty."

"See," Stan took a swig from the two liter of cola they were sharing, "It's shit like that, that had everyone on Cartman's side in the first place. Even if he has dues that no one pays."

"It's in character for my character," Kyle sniffed, stretching out his legs. Sheila's show continued playing, ignored "Engaging story-telling or whatever. Besides," Kyle added, "If you're on my side then it doesn't matter who's fighting with Cartman."

Stan flushed a little but didn't respond.

"Hey," Kyle nudged Stan's side, "Say the thing."

"What? Oh," Stan smirked, "Yes, my Lord."

Kyle grinned and made a happy noise that devolved into Stan starting a wrestling match. Pizza was lost. Soda was spilled, and the ongoing battle for the Stick of Truth raged into the next day.


	2. Stan and Kyle's Big Gay Back-Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternately Titled: I Can't Have
> 
> Thar be porn in this one. In-universe.
> 
> I may have forgotten that Stan was "raised by wolves and badgers." Oops. Sorry Stan, not gay enough for me.
> 
> Disclaimer: The other chapters won't all be like this. The next one is pure smut. I'm worried this one is boring. I should clarify that each chapter is supposed to stand alone.

The High Elves resided in trees. Enormous, ancient trees with great spiraling decks and glittering lights with no source. Rumors ran that the High Elves communicated with the trees and the woods provided for them sustenance and power of curious sorts.

Some trades with the High Elves were not so mysterious; Randy Marshwalker and his family were a select few of humans allowed to move unhindered in elven forests and welcome in the domain. Gerald, the King of High Elves, had long befriended the Marshwalkers and always met him jovially.

"Randy!" Gerald greeted from his throne of twisted wood. The throne room arched stories, higher than any Cathedral, lit by magic to illuminate the shadows of the thick overhead of leaves. "My friend, what brings you so early and without wares?

Randy stood with his wife and two children huddled beside him. Sharon Marshwalker clutched her daughter and son in her arms and they clutched in return, tired and frightened. Gerald's face fell when he observed the ragged and dirty state of his guests, "Why do you bring darkness with you?"

"My friend," Randy said without joy, "Darkness has been brought upon my family."

Gerald regarded his plump wife who was listening with concern, "What times are these?"

Randy reached for his wife's shoulder, "War has broken amongst the humans, and it's been made clear that any friend of the elves is the enemy. Our village," Randy paused, choking on his words. Sharon squeezed his hand. "Was too peaceful with you for too long. I am known for my traverses into the forest and gathered my family here, seeking temporary refuge."

Sheila spoke, "Is there nowhere else?"

Randy shook his head sadly, "I have listened to the earth, and the ground is red with war."

Gerald leaned into his throne, sighing heavily and clutching his arm rests, "My people would never allow you to live here in peace for long."

"Gerald," Sheila protested, "We can't leave them."

"I understand," Randy spoke, "Thank you, queen, but I ask that you take my oldest son." He looked down at young Stanley Marshwalker, who shied behind his mother. Both Sharon and Shelly reached for him. "He would be useful and is young enough to learn your ways. My daughter is too close to womanhood to change, I know," Randy smiled proudly at his son, who looked back pleadingly, "He is strong and smart."

Gerald tapped his fingers against his throne and frowned deeply, "Be that as that may, I must discuss the matter amongst my peers. In the meanwhile," he gestured to a servant who stood silently to the side, "I will give you seven days to eat and rest. You will leave well-stocked." He looked at the family at his mercy with regret, "That is all I can promise for now."

"That is more than enough," Randy replied, "Thank you."

\---  
The High Elves agreed to adopt Stan. After a week, he said his goodbyes to his family and quickly fell into a deep depression which he would allow no one to cure. Upon news that he would learn to serve the High Elves' oldest prince he became antagonistic. He showed his gratitude by breaking the dam to the tears which he had held for weeks.

"I won't do it," Stan sobbed, "Send me to the war where I can die honorably and not in servitude."

"Son," King Gerald tried to comfort, resting his hands on Stan's shoulders. He understood the nature of children and had promised Randy to attempt to raise Stan as his own. "You will live in comfort and learn skills which many are lucky to be born into."

"I am no son of yours," Stan wailed, "I am a slave. I want my father. And my mother."

Queen Sheila intervened when Gerald was at a loss. "We was lucky to be spoiled until now, considering his family was never rich," Sheila said to her husband. "Sadly, the time has passed and he will learn to live amongst the most common of the elves. Give him to Kyle so they can meet, then we will send him to the headmaster."

Stan's first impression of Prince Kyle was that Kyle could not possibly see past the end of his own nose. Kyle's impression of Stan was that he was scruffy. The boys glared at each other until King Gerald left them to their own devices.

"My father," Kyle said almost as soon as Gerald had left Kyle's room, "Has told me that you are to train to be my manservant. I can't have a manservant who is said to cry for weeks on end."

Stan glared, unwillingly impressed by the white, twisted wood walls of Kyle's quarters and the copious toys neatly tucked away in corners. He chose to remain silent.

Kyle sniffed loftily, "You don't talk much. Perhaps all you can do is cry?" His eyes regarded Stan like a strange specimen of bug, "You're not much of a man, either."

Stan grit his teeth, "I can say the same of you."

Kyle smirked, "I am an elf prince, not a man."

"And I am a freeman," Stan snapped, "Not your servant."

Kyle started pacing, circling Stan and inspecting him, "You'll never fit in here," he announced, "No respect for authority."

Stan followed Kyle's path with his eyes, "What authority have you? You're my age."

"For now," Kyle agreed, "But I will outlive you for centuries. And you have been given to me, which gives me authority over you." He stopped circling and looked Stan in the eyes, his own green meeting vibrant blue.

"I belong to no one," Stan said without hesitation, "My heart belongs with my family."

"I don't need your heart," Kyle replied, "I need your obedience."

\---  
Stan was taken to live among elf children who were being taught servitude. Initially, Stan was grateful to be away from the nasty little boy with stupidly red hair, but he learned quickly that Kyle had been right.

Among a peoples of light complexions and usually bright and light-colored hair, Stan was dark except for his eyes. The others were never cruel, but he was isolated by his appearance and origins. Soon he had no other choice but to learn his studies or suffer boredom, which was usually his state regardless. The aggression with Kyle had been engaging. The elven children's dismissal of him was leaving him with nothing.

He was taught to read and write in the elven languages and eventually to play music. He knew joy when he was given and instrument, and things looked a little brighter.

"I hear you're learning quickly," King Gerald said to Stan during his monthly visit. Stan dressed in the plain, soft linens of the students. The well-stocked dorms students lived in were plain but open, welcoming light and air among tiered beds. "This is encouraging. They say you've taken to the lyre?"

"It's my one happiness," Stan admitted, never quite meeting Gerald's eye for having been ungrateful for his kindness. Gerald sat with him on his bed. "Although, I would rather be learning the art of war, so I may fight for my honor."

Gerald regarded Stan patiently, "You should never have to lift a weapon, not in your new life. Besides, among us only the highborn are trained for battle."

"I was born with a surname." Stan argued.

"The surname of a merchant." Gerald said kindly, "I will tell Kyle of your progress."

Stan and Kyle were made to meet again, and Kyle had grown but not much in maturity.

"My father says you play the lyre," Kyle said as they walked the gardens - lush green shrubs speckled with vibrant blooms and sweet-smelling stems. Stan had never seen so many breeds of flower and brush. "I've only seen fools play music."

Stan kept himself composed, "Your people celebrate music and wine. It's all anyone loves from me, so I continue to learn."

"Perhaps," Kyle agreed reluctantly, "But I'm sure a foreigner could never understand the truth in our songs."

Stan rolled his eyes. "Now you're being purposely thick. Melodies like 'I fell in love with a sheep farmer' and 'My wife, she was a cow'?"

Kyle tinged pink, "Of course not," he protested, looking at a bloom which shied away when they passed. "Tales of our fallen warriors and their lost acts of valor. Songs singing of black times, and times of our greatest kings - of our queens who lived selflessly and their daughters who fought enemies from the shadows as greatly as many man in battle. Language is a powerful tool to make our people weep or laugh, and you can't possibly understand the weight behind every word, having grown amongst the humans."

Stan fell quiet, knowing Kyle was right in his own sense, but wanting him to be wrong. He was capable of understanding, eventually. He reached to touch a thorny leaf which glowed dimly in a shadowy part of the garden. "If the acts were lost, how come we sing of them?"

Kyle huffed, and tucked his hands into his sleeves, "You've missed the point. Don't touch the bud, it's poisonous."

Stan jerked his hand away, still thinking of songs, "Perhaps if you could ever grow to love my songs you would allow me to fight like your heroes of legend."

Kyle scoffed, "Perhaps, if I could love anything about you. You're so heavy-footed and clumsy you would cut off your own legs."

\---

Many things happened when Stan was eight, and he learned many things in his ninth year. The year of his tenth birthday he was given a small, plain room next to Kyle's and was allowed to begin learning his duties properly, outside of class. He was grateful to be away from the other children and in his own solitude.

"He his your servant, and you must care for him so he might care for you." Gerald said to Kyle the night Stan moved his meager possessions. "Neither of you are obligated to like each other, but do not be cruel."

"Only if he doesn't cry," Kyle insisted, "He is too sensitive. Still."

Stan sat on the edge of his bed, listening. He had his face tucked into his knees and felt cold overhearing the conversation as though he were a pet. He hated Gerald for pulling him into his new life, even if his father had been forced to lead him here. After a time, Kyle opened his door and stuck in his head, "Are you settled?" He asked, "Do you want for anything?"

"No," Stan sulked, "I want for nothing."

Kyle arched an eyebrow and leaned against the still-partially closed door. "After tonight ask the other servants if you need anything. Your duties start tomorrow."

"Yes." Stan acknowledged.

Kyle frowned, "From here on out your are to refer to me as 'prince'. he drew himself as tall as he could, "No more speaking to me casually, you are here to work."

Stan turn his eyes to Kyle coldly, freezing Kyle with their ice and sending chills down his spine. "My prince," he said bitingly, "Please remember that I am obligated to do as you say, but never to allow you to humiliate me. My pride means more to me than your ego, and you will never, ever, reduce me to some dirty, useless thing. Now please, prince, leave me and allow me to settle."

Kyle should have been angry, but he could only nod, wide-eyed, and shut Stan in his room for the night.

\---  
Stan was monitored for a long time to ensure the quality of his performance. With the help of Al, a large, flamboyant and portly elf of endless kindness, Stan quickly fell into his duties.

"I rarely have to show him things," Al reported to Gerald, "And he seems to have a great tolerance for the prince's more... belligerent moments," Al giggled and beamed at Stan, "He still learns but I have the greatest faith in him."

Gerald regarded the two as they stood where Stan's father had stood once before, "Excellent," he said, "You've come a long way, Stanley."

"Thank you." Stan replied politely.

"I trust you understand your position here, now? It has been four years." Gerald asked, "You may also come to me in times of need. I am no stranger to you."

"Yes, my king." Stan said, not raising his eyes.

Al puffed proudly.

Kyle could never properly complain about Stan's performance. He fulfilled his duties quietly, but never quite deferred the way Kyle wanted. His eyes, Kyle thought - he knew well what shade of blue Stan's eyes were because Stan always met his, slightly condescending and readily amused. Kyle mostly noticed when Stan dressed him in the mornings. Kyle would have preferred to tend to himself, but his father insisted the time had come to be waited on without discomfort. Kyle always felt scrutinized.

"The mouth on him," Kyle complained to his father over dinner. "He always returns my quips. And I don't like he looks at my buttons."

"There is wit in humor," Gerald dismissed, "As long as he doesn't instigate." He paused, "Your buttons?"

Kyle stabbed at his meal, earning a reprimand from his mother. "It's nothing." He groused, "He's just being attentive, I suppose."

His little brother later accosted him in the gardens during a walk, leaping from the trees like an assassin. Ike reported to him the nature of the buttons.

"I went on a great adventure." Ike announced while Kyle still recovered from his shook. "I wanted to know about your servant."

"Of what do you speak?" Kyle sat heavily on a bench.

"The business with the buttons was suspicious." Ike followed to stand before Kyle, bouncing on his heels and scuffing the dirt path beneath them, "And I am very quiet."

"Clearly," Kyle said dryly. He lounged on the bench, gesturing vaguely, "Well, go on."

Ike smirked, "It seems he's been getting into your wardrobe," He reached and tugged at a leaf hanging from a spindling branch, "And mending things. Most dubious."

"That's it?" Kyle frowned.

Ike grinned, and wandered away to pick a nearby tree to climb into, "That's all." His feet disappeared into the branches, though Kyle watched were he could still Ike shuffling. "He's rather amusing when he's not going through his dull, daily tasks."

"What is the significance of this?" Kyle called from his bench, but the leaves only rustled in response.

The next morning, Kyle was the one to watch as Stan carefully buttoned a morning dress robe. Stan could sense him, and glanced up several times in curiosity.

After letting Stan fidget for several minutes, Kyle spoke, "I received word that you've been going through my wardrobe."

Stan continued buttoning his way to the hem of the robe, "For mending, prince. Stan said evenly, his face giving away nothing.

"Is that all?" Kyle stressed, implying he knew something although he didn't.

Stan's steady, even pace at Kyle's feet hesitated before he continued.

Kyle smirked; He had something.

"That is all," Stan replied.

"Stanley," Kyle said, and Stan looked upward. Kyle leaned down, bringing his face a little too close, "What have you been doing? Don't lie to me."

Stan's ears turned red and he stumbled over his words. Kyle waited, watching Stan's embarrassment with satisfaction. "...I might hold your shirts to myself sometimes," Stan mumbled, gaze shifting downward.

"What's that?" Kyle grinned, and cupped a hand to his ear, "Is that all you do, Stanley?"

"I..." Stan stuttered, falling back on his heels and looking mortified, "I wore your robes, before they were laundered."

Kyle laughed, but not meanly. Stan watched in wide-eyed, red-faced confusion as Kyle tried to stop after the first outburst but laughed the more he tried to quit. The elf prince fell into a fit long enough that Stan had to smile, not laughing but struggling to contain himself.

"I can see it," Kyle howled from the floor, "You prancing around in my dirty robes like a prat." He flicked his wrist in a flamboyant way, "Ooh la la!"

Stan didn't understand why, but Kyle was much kinder to him afterward.

"I'll see if my mother will order a robe for you," Kyle told Stan after he had recovered, "A night robe, so you can actually wear it."

Kyle ordered him a soft, dark blue robe with embroidery that depicted an elven archer slaying a dragon. Stan treasured the gift, having long outgrown the clothes his mother made him. The robe sometimes reminded him that he was lucky to live the way he did after his family had left him.

Months before Kyle's initiation into manhood, a great storm shook the land. The High Elves who resided in the old forests had nothing to fear, but even their homes shook from the angry storm.

Stan woke when he heard soft whimpers from Kyle's room. Kyle had never wept for any reason and the distressed noises worried Stan. Groggy and tired, Stan reached for a small floating fairy light which hovered nearby. The speck glowed in his hand and he held it before him so he might see Kyle in the dark. Stan emerged from his bed and swept into Kyle's room.

Kyle was huddled under his blankets, little more than a dark lump in the night, and shook whenever the thunder rumbled through the trees. Stan bit back a smile, but sobered when a quiet whimper emerged from the blankets.

"My prince," Stan whispered, moving though the blue-dimmed room like a shadow, "What is the matter?"

Kyle peeked from his cocoon, too fearful to be humiliated, "I have seen the storms outside," he whimpered, "The sky fires reach for the trees like fingers, and the thunder rips apart my ears." Kyle moaned when the thunder crackled harshly, "This is a bad omen. A horrible omen."

Stan knelt next to Kyle's bed, releasing his light so it hovered near the headboard. He quietly offered his fingers on the edge of the blankets. "I can' t have a prince who cries during thunderstorms," he teased gently.

"It is perfectly acceptable to be afraid of death," Kyle whined. He closed his eyes and shook at the thunder.

"you are not dying" Stan said, bemused, "You are alive and well, with a thousand years of prosperity before you."

"Not if my tree catches fire," Kyle insisted unhappily.

Stan huffed, clenching at Kyle's bedclothes and thinking. His eyes faded into a distant kind of sadness before he spoke, "Do you know why my father's name is Marshwalker?" He asked.

Kyle watched Stan's hand in the dark, edging his own out of the blanket but not further. "No," he said.

Stan could see Kyle's dimly lit face. He smiled faintly, settling onto his knees as he spoke, "My father's father, and himself, can speak to the ground. We hear the movements of the earth, red its stories and sometimes know what will happen. Never details," he added, "But history spanning a millennial. We walk the ground, knowing its words. Our ancestors emerged from the marshlands with such gifts and stepped through its perils as light-footed as any elf. Thus our name."

Kyle listened, eyes bright and calm.

Stan cleared his throat, "The earth right now is angry. It weeps tears of rain and fire, but you should be afraid of its voice - the fire it brings is much more fearsome. Even though the fires reach for the trees, it's only those that take too much from the earth. The forest is cleared, the animals rejoice to have more even though something was taken. After the destruction comes the new life, grateful for having survived, bright with birth and renewal."

Stan spoke softly, and Kyle reached a little further from his blankets. Stan linked their fingers in the darkness, "The flowers will open to the sun, and birds will dip below the canopy, playing with the gifts the storm has brought. There can be no joy without having known horror. Everything will be okay. I know because my family speaks with the earth."

Kyle lay quiet, tired and creating a warmth between their hands.

Another servant was sent to fetch them n the morning, finding them curled against each other and sleeping soundly.

Having been late, Kyle's home was a flurry of early-morning activity as the ladies of the house bustled with their work.

"I was certain one of you were dead and the other had fled." Sheila scolded as she moved amongst her ladies, "Which one, I didn't know, but I knew you had finally killed each other. Stanley!"

Stan watched his feet, feeling idle in the morning movement. He looked up when Sheila called for him, "Yes, queen?"

"I'm not sure what possessed you to sleep in Kyle's bed," she turned her sharp, green eyes to Stan, "Most unbecoming."

Stan paled," I..."

"I asked him," Kyle spoke in his defense. Stan couldn't hide his surprise. "He wrote some stories and was telling them to me. We both became tired without realizing."

Sheila's chest heaved as she regarded them with doubt, looking between them, "I suppose that's okay. Do not make it a habit."

Not many storms attacked the land, but Kyle began sleeping more fitfully than ever and often woke pale and dark-eyed. His dreams haunted him for days - dreams of foreign invaders, raging, merciless battles and the bodies of elves littering the ground. He work in cold sweats, fear beating his heart and the illusions of enemies lurking in the corners.

There was comfort in knowing someone resided nearby. Exhausted, Kyle went to Stan's room for the first time.

"Stan," Kyle called quietly.

Stan shuffled in his blankets and sat sleepily, "Kyle?" he asked, not yet conscious.

"Move to my bed," Kyle ordered, edging on begging, "I have been awake for weeks and you fought the storm with your words once. Do it again."

Stan squinted grumpily for having been woken. He slipped from his covers frumpy and disheveled, tugging his robe over his shoulder, "I cannot speak to you in your dreams." He complained, "Perhaps your mother can give you a sleeping spell."

Kyle clutched the door and shook his head, "I wake with the worst headaches after," he insisted, "Come tell me a story of your father so I may smile again and rest."

Stan gave in and slipped into Kyle's bed. Kyle allowed him to slide under the covers though they lay with space between them. Having woke, Stan thought of a story.

"My father was not a great drunkard," Stan told him, "But some days he and his friends would celebrate too passionately. This time they had celebrated the changing of our town's mayor, who had been cruel. They even asked a circus to pass through so they might have music and performances. Our village was too small for caravans to ever bother."

"A circus?" Kyle asked sleepily.

"Shush," Stan prodded, pressing his cheek against Kyle's pillow, "I was getting there. A circus has a many great attractions and entertainers - mainly animals you would never see up close. That's what everyone was excited for.

"When the animals came, though, my father was well drunk and wept at the sight of them." Stan smiled in remembrance, "The fool said the animals cried in their captivity. I recall the animals roaring and attacking the cages, but my father insisted. The bear was what broke him"

'What a sad, sorry sigh,' my father wept. Although the bear seemed very content to sit, chewing on branches and eating. It was a great, lumbering stupid thing. I was frightened of it at the time."

Kyle tugged at Stan's sleeve, "What happened?"

Stan laughed lightly, "My father and his friends snuck out the night before the circus was to leave, still drunk after a week. They successfully snuck past the circus' guards, somehow opened the cage, and wrapped a rope around the bears neck to drag the poor creature into the wild."

"Wouldn't that have been kind?" Kyle asked, frowning.

"Maybe," Stan said, absently pulling at the sleeve of Kyle's hand which still held onto his, "But I think the bear was old, because when they untied it at the edge of the woods it just sat and blinked stupidly at them. Enraged, my father woke the town hollering at the bear to go home, run free. The circus people didn't even charge him with thievery the sight was so sad. He later had a funeral for it," Stan rolled his eyes, "To represent the eventual death it would suffer from its enslavement."

Kyle smiled and buried his head into his pillow, "Your father sounds like a kind man."

Stan could only see Kyle's hair with his face buried. "A fool, but kind, I think," he said, "I sometimes can't remember."

Kyle stayed silent, but Stan knew he wasn't sleeping.

"Should I leave?" Stan whispered.

"No, stay," Kyle murmured, "You make me tired."

The nights that Kyle lied about his restlessness to have Stan tell him stories, Stan made up far-fetched tales to make them laugh. They would later realize the house could hear them making a great noise late at night but no one spoke against them.

"It worries me how close you've gotten to your servant." Sheila said to Kyle one day, "He is a human and only a servant. I am afraid for you."

"Father called him son once." Kyle snapped back, "Unless that's change, I don't--" he couldn't quite meet his mother's eyes, "I don't have many companions."

"You have a brother." Sheila said.

"He's as much my brother as Stan." Kyle returned.

The summer of their fifteenth year, the war which separated Stan from his parents infected the woods, upsetting the peaceful balance which had been maintained for centuries. Gerald fretted as the woods became sick, lessening the High Elves' normally bountiful fruits.

"A human king seeks my audience," Gerald shared select news with his family at a grand table normally used to draft war plans. The room was as fantastic as the throne room, but colder and utilitarian. He looked at Kyle, "My advisers provide wise speculation, but I wish to hear from the common people their trials. I want you to bring me Stan."

Stan was summoned from his duties and entered the war room, dwarfed by its high, arched ceilings and tapestries which bore the emblems of Kyle's family; A single white tree.

"The Cartmans?" Stan paled when Gerald asked. "They waged war against the elves and destroyed my village. Their king is fearsome and his wife is rumored to whore herself. The son is said to be the most horrible."

"There is another rumor that the Cartmans hold some great outside power," said Gerald, "Something that gives them great luck in battle."

"I don't know," Stan said, face darkening, "But the people with them are skilled and fearless."

When the Cartmans arrived to Gerald for audience, Kyle asked that Stan stand with the servants at the side. Stan had requested to see the people who had ruined his past home. He was barely afforded a glimpse when Kyle, Ike, Queen Sheila and the rest of the hall was dismissed so the kings could speak. The Cartman son was instructed to leave with Kyle and Ike, and Stan followed close behind.

Eric Cartman's body rolled from his clothes, and his many chins jiggled when he walked and spoke. Kyle showed him the gardens he was so fond of, hoping it was only prosperity and not selfishness that made Eric Cartman fat. Unfortunately the latter was true and though unpleasant to view, he was witty and observant.

"Who is that?" Cartman nodded to Stan behind them. "He makes me nervous."

"That is my manservant," Kyle said as they walked the garden at a leisurely pace, the four young men trailing like a cluster of ducks. "Stanley Marshwalker. He has served me for many years."

Ike trailed behind a few steps, still close enough to listen.

"Marshwalker?" Cartman sneered, watching the flowers with disinterest. His eyes were beady and mean. "They are well-known elf sympathizers."

"The family lives?" Kyle inquired, instantly developing an intense dislike for the other boy.

"Unfortunately." Cartman reached into his pocket and pulled out an apple. "We took their village many years ago and flattened it for the cows." He took a huge bite of his fruit, chewing loudly. "There is a prosperous dairy farm where the village resided."

"At least you made use of the land," Kyle said coolly, "If not the people."

"We have no use for enemies." Cartman declared. "The fact he is here is proof of why we demand complete submission from our conquests. We are kind to those who comply."

"How so?" Kyle asked, looking away. He wondered if Stan could hear. Stan followed, a quiet speck behind the royalty.

"We receive dues," Cartman smirked, "And they aren't pillaged. Much."

"How kind."

"I thought so," Cartman said, "My father is brilliant."

Kyle took a sharp turn in the path, leading Cartman to some beautiful flowers which smelled of feces. Cartman's nose wrinkled but he gave no other indication that he noticed. "We hear you have a mystic power that gives your warriors strength."

"We do," Cartman preened. He threw his apple core into the bushes, "A way to see into the truth and know all that will come."

Kyle's eyes narrowed, "The truth?"

Cartman laughed, "You will see should it come to battle."

Ike suddenly spoke from behind them, "What news of the elves from the north?"

Cartman glanced over his shoulder with distaste, "Long dead." He said. "They fought valiantly, but their technology was expensive and not comparable to my father's."

Ike's lips pinched, but he fell quiet.

"I hate him." Kyle said the next morning, sitting on the floor with his face in his knees while Stan changed his bedclothes. "He is ugly and cruel, and it would be better if he were stupid, but he's not."

"You need a challenge," Stan said absently, focusing on his work. He hadn't been able to hear the conversation. "Perhaps he would provide."

Kyle glared up at Stan, "He had word of your family."

Stan froze, and turned to look at Kyle, clenching the bedsheets with white fists.

Kyle felt a pang for having baited Stan with such news. His expression softened and irritation faded. "he said they're well-known elf sympathizers," Kyle relayed, "And that you being here is proof of such."

Stan trembled, shock wracking him, before his face twisted into what would be tears of relief. He fell to his knees, releasing the bed sheets and burying his face in his hands, "Oh thank you," he cried, "I've wondered for seven years. They're alright. They're alright."

Kyle moved closer and lay a hand on Stan's shoulder, letting Stan drain himself of his relief and sorrow. Later Kyle told him about the dairy farm.

"I'll hate him for both of his," Stan spat, shaking with rage, "I will find a way to rip his kingdom to shreds."

"The only ripping you will do is of the weeds in the garden." Kyle said lightly. "You are too kind to fight."

Stan looked at Kyle bitterly, "You know what I've always wanted. For my honor."

"There is honor in serving a prince." Kyle insisted.

Stan refused to reply.

King Gerald became ill not long after the Cartmans departed. the doctors announced that he had been poisoned and they did not know the cure. Gerald lay in his bed, sweating and vomiting, unable to find peace. The doctors fought to find an antidote, but the poison was from a breed of plant far from their part of the world. Months passed and Gerald resigned himself to his death.

"My sons," Gerald said to Ike and Kyle, struggling to breathe, "When I pass, the Cartmans will come upon you. You may stall but you must fight. Remember that you will live long past the humans and have nothing to fear from them."

Ike and Kyle watched their father struggle, remaining silent.

"Ike," Gerald said," I want you to reclaim the north."

Ike paled, "But they are not my people any longer..."

"Nor were they ever," Gerald said, reaching for his adopted son's hand. "The northerners are hardy and intelligent, and I believe they've only gone into hiding. You look of them," he squeezed Ike's hand. Ike listened, grim. "They may listen to you. Gather them and rid the world of the scourge that tried to rid the world of them."

"Ike quieted his protests and agreed. Kyle waited for his orders with a heavy heart.

"Kyle," Gerald smiled, "My oldest."

"Father," Kyle pleaded, "Do not go."

"Do not mourn for long," Gerald said sadly, "You have a long road ahead of you and I fear you're not ready. You are so young. A babe by our standards."

Kyle ducked his head and clenched Gerald's blankets in his fists.

"The oldest Cartman will be gone soon," Gerald said with darkness in his voice, "But the child is full of rage and hate, and you will fight for a lifetime with him. What the outcome is, I do not know. Gain many allies and take his. Do not show him mercy, but do not hate the humans. The Cartmans do not represent humanity."

"I will try my best, father," Kyle said, "For vengeance and your honor. The father's crimes will not go unanswered."

Gerald smiled, "Good. Now please, let me rest. Speaking takes too much from me."

After his father became sicker, more preparations were made in expectation of Kyle's ascent to the throne. His mother distracted herself with planning, hounding him relentlessly.

Kyle sought Stan in the middle of kitchen duties. Stan was peeling potatoes in the clean, white kitchen with its many counters when Kyle slipped in silently, successfully hiding from the cooks.

"Come with me," Kyle hissed over the counter. Stan nearly sliced himself with a paring knife. "I must escape my mother."

Stan looked for the cooks before leaning over the counter to hiss back. Kyle was little more than a puff of red hiding behind the counters, which would have been funny if Stan wasn't afraid of being caught. "I will be in such trouble," he protested.

"Tell them you were summoned," Kyle demanded, "I will speak for you."

"Why not send a summon?"

"because then she'll know," Kyle complained, "come, I want to see the canopy and you can't let me go alone. It's irresponsible."

They snuck away from the winding trees of the High Elves, scaling high above the tree houses and into the wild. Higher and higher into the branches they reached, carefully climbing and leaping, their clothes catching snags and rubbing against the tree bark.

Stan followed with great, heavy jumps compared to the easy leaps and bounds of Kyle. Kyle seemed to need to leap and swing from the branches, waiting impatiently as Stan struggled to stay near. Kyle as light-footed until the branches began to thing and weaken, becoming younger and requiring care to navigate.

They climbed for hours until the air cleared and specks of sunlight reached Stan's face, freckling his cheeks. He had not seen the sun so close in years, having lived near the forest floor and having little reason to leave.

Their heads popped from the canopy like curious moles, leaves littering their hair and dirt smudging their cheeks. Carefully treading the top of the leaves with their bodies below the branches, Kyle found a solid tangle of branches for them to sit and look at the expanse below.

From high above, the endless green forest stretched into the horizon, only broken by mountains of which they could see over the top. Great birds hovered in the distance, streams twisted their way across the earth like blue veins visible under the surface green skin. The wind blew cold at their perch, but they were hot from their climb and shivered gratefully.

Kyle sighed and reclined against the branches, eyes closed against the sun.

Stan took a deep breath, absorbing the chilled air into his bones. The boys didn't speak for a long time.

"I am frightened," Kyle said eventually. The sun had moved and he watched the clouds drift.

"You have every right to be."

Kyle rolled onto his stomach, feet dangling off their small plateau of branches, "Ike will leave in two years, after he has become a man," he said, "I am scared for him too."

"He is brilliant with tactics," Stan said. he watched the expanse before them. "Cartman doesn't stand a chance against someone truly clever."

"Maybe," Kyle rolled again, sitting and bringing a bundle of wet leaves in his hair. He curled into himself, staring at nothing. "Tell me what you think. What you really think."

Stan looked at Kyle and his crown of leaves, red hair almost brown from the dampness brought by rain. "I think my opinion doesn't matter." He said evenly, "Who am I? a hand-servant, not worth anything. You have been trained to think of these matters."

Kyle gave him an odd look, "Do you really feel that?"

Stan turned away, keeping silent. Kyle moved closer until their arms touched, "I confide in you, now confide in me."

"It's different."

A flash of hurt crossed Kyle's face, "Do you listen to me because you're obligated?"

Stan clutched at his own sleeves, hunching. "Sometimes. Not really."

Kyle looked at him expectantly.

Stan stayed huddled into himself and thought for several long moments. He sighed heavily, "I think you're too young, and your mother is too pig-headed to make a proper queen regent." He said reluctantly, "I think your brother is old beyond his years, but his young face will put him at a disadvantage."

Kyle scowled, "Do you think my brother would make a better king?"

Stan watched Kyle from the corner of his eye, "As things stand now, yes."

"And where do they stand?"

Stan smiled faintly, "You are very much like your mother."

"Pig-headed?" Kyle glared.

"And easily angered," Stan continued, "And foul-tempered, and impatient.

Kyle groaned and leaned his forehead into Stan's shoulder. Stan tensed, then relaxed. "Stop," Kyle protested, "I know these things about myself, I know."

Stan hesitated before leaning his cheek into Kyle's mass of curls, "Above all you believe in justice," he added, "Even if you're not particularly kind."

"Just King Kyle," Kyle said, "Doesn't quite have a ring to it."

"There are worse things."

The wind gusted by them, sending them both into shivers. Kyle pulled away and Stan missed his heat.

"Would you fight for this?" Kyle nodded at the horizon, the endless expanse of old forest, "For Just King Kyle?"

Stan pressed his lips together, knowing what he was asking, "In an instant."

"Then," Kyle looked away, "I would let you fight. Because without my brother I trust no one."

Stan stopped breathing, "Your mother..."

"Forget my mother," Kyle scoffed, "You'll start training after my coronation. I'll see to it."

"I would never betray you," Stan turned to Kyle full-body, grabbing his hands to pull them to his heart. Kyle looked between them. "Your father gave me refuge but you are giving me my freedom," Stan said urgently, eyes blue and bright with promise, "I would take a sword through my chest if only what you say is true."

Kyle's expression was even and calm, "Don't do that," he said quietly, "Don't die. My father gave me for you to care for."

Stan's grip loosened in his confusion, eyebrows knitting together, "What do you mean?"

Kyle leaned forward and pressed his lips against Stan's. Stan didn't move, too shocked to respond. Their knees pressed together, hands still clutching, the wind cold and biting at their ears. A few moments seemed to pass for an eternity, allowing Stan to register what was happening.

Stan relaxed, eyes slipping closed and he pressed back. The moment he parted his lips, Kyle pulled away, their hands were still linked.

"What--" Stan looked at Kyle in amazement, "Why? This is coming from nowhere?"

Kyle smiled and squeezed Stan's fingers, "Is it really? After sharing my bed so many times?"

"I thought," Stan's cheeks began to flush, and in his stutter his voice lowered, "I thought that was an elf thing. Or a little kid thing."

Kyle laughed at him. Stan couldn't find it in himself to be annoyed, still awed and staring at Kyle in a new way. Kyle pressed his forehead against Stan's and Stan allowed him, "We're not little anymore."

"I suppose," Stan closed his eyes, "The bigness of everything makes me feel small."

"You're not." Kyle trailed his fingers over Stan's forearm, "You make me feel safe."

"I would never betray you." Stan said again.

"I know."

\---  
That night Stan went to Kyle’s bed without prompting or excuses. Even a hysterical Queen Sheila couldn’t stop them from being giddy, exchanging happy glances and forgetting, for the moment, the events looming before them. They found refuge in Kyle’s bed, a tangle of limbs and sloppy kisses.

Kyle was eager to touch, but Stan kept stopping Kyle’s hands from traveling too low. “I’m not ready,” he whispered, distracting Kyle with kisses across his nose and brushing near his mouth. “I’m still wrapping my head around this.”

“I can’t be shy anymore.” Kyle moaned. He sat straddled on Stan’s waist, using Stan’s grip on his wrists to brace himself and nibble at Stan’s lips. Stan supported his weight easily.

“Shy is the wrong word,” Stan turned his head to kiss Kyle dryly, not sure what to do with himself.

Kyle made an irritated noise but closed his eyes and pressed back. He tongue snuck out and Stan shivered.

"I can't believe you didn't feel me in the mornings." Kyle murmured.

"I did," Stan said, pressing up his hips into Kyle's weight. He was certain Kyle could feel him, though he couldn't see anything under Kyle's robes. "I just thought..."

"You're so good." Kyle smirked, and grabbed back at Stan's wrists, running his tongue over Stan's bottom lip, "Poor Stanley, suppressing himself."

"I didn't." Stan bit at Kyle's lip, earning a shaky moan. He decided he liked the noise and bit a little harder. Kyle gasped and rocked his hips, still using Stan's arms as leverage. Kyle lowered himself so their chests pressed, and Stan fought off the noise int he back of his throat which threatened to rise with the heat swelling in his groin. "I could never get over your smell," Stan said, "You never smell dirty, just like the woods and ... ah."

Kyle had shifted downward so their thighs rested together, their hips aligned and the evidence of their lust pressed through their clothes.Stan still couldn't quite see, but Kyle was flushed from the subtle rocking of their hips.

"Like what?" Kyle's voice was rough, pupils blown wide and he gripped Stan's hands in the effort to control himself. Stan was sure he was in a similar state.

"You." Stan thrust up and Kyle pressed down and they both moved with the friction alighting their bodies, grinding and gasping and completely absorbed in the heat whirling around each other. Stan suddenly surged forward, throwing Kyle off him and rolling him onto his back. Kyle blinked up at him, then frowned, fighting Stan's grip on his arms.

"I don't want on my back," Kyle complained, glaring and tensing in warning. His pulls against Stan's hold became more insistent.

"I won't come in my pants," Stan gasped. Kyle stopped struggling and watched Stan's shoulders shake. Kyle smirked and hooked a leg around Stan's waist, pulled himself up until they were grinding again. Stan swore and released Kyle's arms to pull away, but Kyle was quick and rolled them over. There was a short struggle while Kyle rearranged their legs so he lay between Stan's and his hands kept Stan's arms by his sides. He thrust, tearing a frustrated moan from below him.

"I want to see you lose your composure," Kyle grinned, rocking and watching Stan's expression as the other struggled to calm himself. He wasn't unaffected, but most from watching Stan arch, the almost confused lust and desperation. "You're always so collected. It's infuriating."

"I'm not," Stan groaned, shivering. His legs skittered out, too close and body thrumming with too much heat for stopping to be possible, "You'll kill me," he whined.

Kyle ducked his head on impulse and dragged his tongue across Stan's neck, tasting sweat and the heavy-scented musk that was Stan. Stan shuddered and released a cry that sent fire down Kyle's spine. Stan's back arched, body pulsed without rhythm until he collapsed on Kyle's bed, flushed and gasping.

Kyle smiled, and lay himself next to Stan's shaking body. He closed his eyes and rested.

"You're horrible," Stan mumbled at length. Kyle hummed. "Did you...?

"No," Kyle shrugged, lounging.

Stan worried, "I should..." he started to sit.

"No," Kyle stirred enough to push Stan down with his hand, rolled onto his back and resettled. "You're mine to care for. Rest."

Stan frowned. He reached tentatively to bury his fingers in Kyle's hair. Kyle's eyes closed and he leaned into the touch. "That's a strange way to look at it."

"I suppose." Kyle said absently, and he drifted into a happy, warm sleep.

\---

___  
The day King Gerald died, Ike isolated himself in silence, Sheila was inconsolable with tears, and Kyle fell into an all-encompassing rage that no one could shake him from. A year had passed since Gerald fell ill, and his death had been painful and long. His passing was both a relief and a scraping sorrow.

"I'LL KILL HIM." Kyle screamed, throwing anything which could shatter into his wall. "I'LL TEAR OUT HIS INNARDS AND USE THEM TO DECORATE MY HALLS. I'LL BURY HIS BONES IN PIG TROUGHS. HE'LL SUFFER MY THE WAY MY FATHER DID."

"Prince please," Stan desperately fumbled around the room, dodging Kyle's worryingly accurate throws, "Please stop."

"HIS CHILDREN WILL KNOW ONLY WAR, HIS WOMEN WILL BE BARREN," Kyle's eyes welled with angry tears, "AND I WILL BE EVER RELENTLESS IN MY VENGEANCE." He threw a glass orb at Stan's head.

Stan ducked, the orb flying through a window with a ringing shatter. He finally had enough, "Kyle!" He barked, throwing himself at the raving prince, tackling him to the ground.

Kyle screamed and flailed, bruising Stan with his fists and legs, "Let me go!"

"Not until you calm yourself." Stan grappled Kyle, struggling because Kyle was much stronger than given credit, "Stop rolling in the glass, you'll only bleed."

"Like my father bled," Kyle wailed, his face turning red as the tears finally started moving, "He was too good to die like he did."

"He was" Stan agreed, and buried his face in Kyle's chest as he continued holding him to the ground, "Kyle," he said gently, even as Kyle tried to buck and throw him off, "You can cry. You are right to be angry."

Surrounded by glass and the ruins of his childhood room, Kyle sobbed and cursed while Stan held him to keep him from flying into destruction. Nearly an hour passed, and no other servants came, too frightened to risk a face full of glass.

Eventually he fell silent, and Kyle slept. Stan didn't move from the floor, afraid to wake him. They slept fitfully but the time past quickly, both exhausted from the chain of events and the loss of King Gerald. They had both loved Gerald in their own ways.

When Kyle did stir, the night had long fallen and Stan lay in a half-doze against his chest. Kyle stared blindly at the ceiling, and they lay in the shattered quiet, letting the darkness take them into solitude. When Kyle spoke, his voice seemed loud, "I am disgusting."

Stan made a tired noise and squeezed his arms around him, "You are hurting."

Kyle reached to touch Stan's dark strands of hair. "Did I hit you?" He asked, emotionless. He watched the shadows on his ceiling, the way they stretched across his wall like black fingers.

"Yes," Stan said, unconcerned, "Not with projectiles, just your fists."

"Well," Kyle closed his eyes, "That's okay."

Stan released a breath through his nose and smiled wryly, "Shall we move to the bed?"

Kyle remained motionless on the floor, "I am cold." He turned his head, looking down at Stan holding him. Stan was illuminated by the blue light - a soft healing presence in the ruin Kyle had created. "Stan," he murmured, "I am cold, will you warm me? You make me forget myself."

Stan closed his eyes for a moment, before rousing himself and framing Kyle's shoulders between his hands. He studied Kyle's face, his own shadowed and Kyle looked back, unsure of what Stan searched for. "Let's go to bed." Stan said.

Stan made Kyle settle on the bed and get comfortable, undressing him as he pressed his mouth against the newly exposed skin, which wasn't actually new anymore.

"I have these horrible dreams." Kyle said as Stan mouthed his neck. He lay relaxed, eyes closed. "I dream of your chest being pierced by a lance and your body hangs from our white trees like an execution."

"Stop that," Stan whispered, petting at Kyle's hips, "You never call for me anymore."

Kyle shifted into Stan's tongue when Stan reached a nipple, laving at the nub, "I call for you in a different way."

Stan's continued pulling the robe open, thumbs dipped into Kyle's belly, feeling the muscle and Kyle's subtle stretch. "I am still your servant," he kissed down until he reached Kyle's navel, dragging his tongue and dipping inside. Kyle's hips pivoted upward and he released a breathy "haaah" from above. "Let me help you." Stan moved lower.

Kyle gasped when Stan's mouth found his hipbone, his teeth pressing against tender skin, "You're helping me now," he whined, spreading his legs. Stan bit at his hip, and Kyle's cock strained against his robes. Stan quickly finished unbuttoning the robe so Kyle could shrug it off.

Stan tugged at Kyle's pants, pulling them over his erection and knees. Kyle raised his hips to pull them off, sprawling on his bed. Laying on his stomach, Stan pressed his face to Kyle's hip, observing the erection he helped make, teased with an absent pet to the junction of Kyle's hip and thigh. Kyle pressed into his touch, watching Stan nuzzle his thigh, arousal heating him seeing his cock so close to Stan's face.

Stan kissed the base of Kyle's cock before moving up again. Kyle groaned, arching when Stan's thumbs found his nipples and started rubbing a slow, burning kind of heat which filled his belly. Stan shifted their hips so they pressed snugly together.

Kyle felt intensely vulnerable with Stan still fully clothed but he was sprawled, nude and aroused. He reached for the back of Stan's neck, pulling him to bite as his lips, licking where they became swollen. He tightened his legs around Stan's hips, grinding their groins together. Stan moaned and pressed into their kiss, tilting his head when Kyle moved to his neck and sucked hard. Stan rocked his entire body, bracing himself with his hands.

"Take over," Kyle growled, pressing his tongue against the bruise forming on Stan's neck. Stan whimpered. "Take control. Wrest it from me."

Stan tried to move away but Kyle followed and found another spot on his neck. Stan made a noise and grabbed a fist of Kyle's hair to force him away. Green eyes blazing, Kyle smirked and threw his hips to roll them, surprising Stan until Kyle started pulling at his clothes. "Why are you so weak?" Kyle hissed, fingers pressing sharply at Stan's chest. "I've chosen a weak ranger. You'll never protect anyone if you can't even win against me."

Stan knew he was being baited, but couldn't stop the angry hurt that made him dig his fingers into Kyle's sensitive sides. Kyle yelped and shied away, both pained and tickled. Stan rolled them again and grabbed Kyle's leg to throw it over his shoulder and press it to Kyle's chest, effectively pinning him. Stan was flushed and disheveled and unsure of what to do with rage in such a form.

Kyle bucked, and reached beneath them to pull at Stan's pants, using both his hands and free leg on Stan's hip as leverage.

"Stop," Stan growled, grabbing one of Kyle's hands and pushing it to his head, "You anger me."

Kyle rolled his head, nipped at the wrist near him. Stan could feel Kyle's gaze cutting him like thorns. "Make me." Kyle's chest rumbled, and he surged once more, using his remaining hand to try and force them over again.

Stan released Kyle's hand, and grabbed at his hair to pull his head back, diving for a biting kiss that quickly had Kyle panting back into his mouth, whining when Stan sucked harshly on his tongue. He shivered and surrendered for the moment, dazed when Stan pulled away just enough to look down at him, observing his flush from fighting and the still-hard state of his cock.

Clutching Kyle's leg to his chest, Stan pulled Kyle's leg wider and reached to press the head of Kyle's cock against his belly, pinching just slightly. Kyle moaned, but realized his opportunity and grabbed at Stan's open tunic collar to pull him down.

Stan fumbled, but though Kyle was strong, Stan was stronger and he grabbed the back of Kyle's neck and squeezed, earning a pained grimace and arch.

"Turn over," Stan used the captive leg to start forcing Kyle over, "Get on your stomach."

Kyle gave him a slightly worried look but followed the direction of Stan's hands. He glanced over his shoulder when he settled on his chest, watching the focused and frustrated look of Stan behind him.

"What are you--"

"Quiet," Stan demanded softly, "Let me work." He frowned and rearranged Kyle so his hips were raised, cock sagging heavily. Kyle shivered, feeling the hot press of Stan's clothed groin against him.

"We're not--"

"I know." Stan said.

Stan pet the small of his back and didn't move for several moments, thinking. Kyle started to move to his hands, "You move so slow--"

Stan's arm shot out to grab the back of Kyle's neck and push him down, "I said stay still." He moved closer to Kyle's neck, biting and following with a harsh suck on the junction of Kyle's neck and shoulder, curls filling his vision.

Kyle breathed out and made a small "hnn'd" noise that Stan responded to by sliding his free hand underneath Kyle's stomach, pressing him upward so his backside rucked against Stan's groin. Stan breathed harshly, a pang of arousal making him roll his hips a little harder. Kyle pressed back against him.

Stan licked at Kyle's neck, pressing his tongue against the bruise forming until Kyle made a pained noise but was flushing up to his ears. Stan scooted his hand down further, feeling for Kyle's erection. Kyle moaned when Stan took him in his grip, Stan's hand moving slowly in time with the bites on his neck and shoulders. Precome slide from his tip, wetting Stan's fingers. Stan pressed his thumb against the pliable flesh of Kyle's cock head, and Kyle canted his hips into Stan's hand.

Kyle rocked in time with Stan's slow, steady pulses, occasionally trying to hurry him along to get away from the dragging, burning pressure thrumming through him by thrusting harder and faster. Stan would reign him by pressing the back of his neck in reminder he that he still held him down. If Kyle persisted, Stan released his cock until Kyle stopped or with gentle warning pinches to his hip. Kyle felt tremors the longer Stan milked him without providing enough pressure to actually come, started to moan at the harsher pulses, the sucking bites that bruised him.

"Faster," Kyle eventually murmured, rubbing his face against the sheets, "You drive me insane."

"No," Stan returned, "You would be finished in seconds if you had your way."

"Pleasure yourself on me," Kyle moaned, "Your clothes are too hot."

"That's what you wanted." But Stan obliged to pull his own cock from its confines, breathing in relief to rub himself against Kyle's spread thigh. Kyle's leg skid out, welcoming the pressure against his balls.

Stan abandoned Kyle's cock in favor of holding his own and rubbing himself against Kyle's backside. He watched Kyle's dazed expression, the unconscious way he reacted t Stan's movements. Stan released Kyle's neck, grabbing him by the shoulder and forcing him to sit up on his knees. Kyle arched slightly, unsure of where Stan wanted him.

"What do you want?" Stan asked, burying his face into Kyle's shoulders, "I can't possibly know."

Kyle sighed, bracing his hands on Stan's knees and rocking back to feel Stan's cock against his ass. Stan ran his hands down his sides and grabbed his waist. "This. This is good."

"You're unlike yourself."

Kyle leaned his head back on Stan's shoulder, "To not decide," he said quietly.

"Are you close?"

"For years."

Stan reached to grab cock more firmly than he had all night, earning a loud and grateful moan. Stan pumped him slowly but with pressure and Kyle started shaking with the effort of holding himself in the same position. His hips rocked with Stan's hand, the burn in his muscles from his stretched position felt good. Stan trailed his fingers along Kyle's thighs and hips, until his knees started slipping from growing weak.

"Hold yourself on your hands," Stan ordered, nudging at the small of Kyle's back and Kyle lowered himself willingly. Stan nudged Kyle upward until he was on his hands and knees, almost at the headboard. Stan moved to his back, shimmying until he face was aligned with Kyle's cock.

Kyle looked down in confusion, feeling alone until Stan's hands reached and pulled his hips down and his tongue greeted his cock. Kyle made a surprised noise and bucked down into Stan's heat, but Stan pulled away until Kyle calmed, before lapping at the head, tasting bitter precome and absorbed by Kyle's scent.

Kyle moaned, grabbing at the head board, feeling suspended. He moved in small thrusts, focused on Stan's lips, the firm movements of Stan's tongue making the rest of his body sensitive. He was too aware of feeling open and at the mercy of Stan's mouth on his cock.

Stan licked up his length, swirling his tongue against the head and pumping in his hand what couldn't fit in his mouth. Kyle tried to thrust into him, but the position made them awkward and Stan held him still as he moved his head rhythmically.

Kyle shivered when Stan pulled off his cock and moved to take his balls, tongue pressing up firmly. Kyle felt his entire body was electrocuted with arousal. His mouth opened in a silent cry at the movement of Stan's mouth on his sex, arms giving out and he allowed himself to lower to his chest again. His hips thrust weakly.

"Stan," Kyle panted roughly, "Now..."

Stan heard, and moved up to take his cock again, pressing his tongue hard against the base of the head. Kyle shuddered and pulsed, his orgasm spilling through him and into Stan's mouth. Stan let him rock his hips until he was soft, and Stan lapped at any residual come until Kyle was shaking and reaching down to pull him away.

They rearranged themselves so they lay next to each other, Kyle catching his breath. Stan was still mostly clothed, cock hard and protruding from his trousers.

Kyle recovered and sleepily reached for Stan. After Kyle's nosiness, Stan came quietly, only reaching to kiss him wetly and wearily.

"Thank you," Kyle said, burying his head into Stan's shoulder as they drifted to sleep once more.

Stan hummed, grateful that Kyle seemed to have calmed.

Before they completely fell into unconsciousness, Kyle spoke again, "I lied. Years ago. Though not at the time."

Stan stirred, willing himself to listen, "About what?"

Kyle curled into himself and into Stan, "I need your heart, too."

Stan wasn't entirely sure to what Kyle was referring, but something made his heart soar.

___  
The year Ike reached manhood was the year he made preparations for the north. Sheila wept uncontrollably, and King Kyle tried his best to console her. Much as he was during his rage, Sheila was inconsolable in her grief.

"This was father's wish." Kyle held his mother in his arms, "He wouldn't have given Ike this task if Ike was going to fail."

"Your father was always a fool." Sheila wailed, clutching her oldest as though he were the one leaving. "First a babe takes the throne and now my youngest is warring."

Ike had to take to sneaking Kyle his plans for fear of their mother intercepting them.

"I'll be traveling by ship," Ike told Kyle in the great war hall. they were alone. "I plan to go by an alias in anticipation of the Cartmans' fleet. We will move as a merchant ship."

Kyle frowned as he reviewed maps and supply lists, "Elven ships cannot be mistaken for merchants." He said.]

Ike grinned, flushing with excitement. "Worry not brother, we will acquire the needed masks."

"Do not take the Cartmans for fools," Kyle warned, "Something gives them power, and I'm afraid, insight."

"I have faith in my crew," Ike replied. A sly expression crossed his face, "I'd have further faith if you gave me your ranger...I would gladly continue training him."

Kyle scoffed, "He would never leave."

Stan had been under tutelage for two years, and by sixteen had absorbed more than many elves had by his age. He had also inherited the gifts of reading the land from his father - gifts sharpened into skills the more he learned from the elves.

"You have given me the greatest treasure," Stan told Kyle not long after their sixteenth birthdays, "I will fight like the heroes from the tales you love, and the future will sing of my deeds."

"If it ever comes to that." Kyle said, "You have overcome many things and deserve songs, regardless."

Months after Ike's departure, Eric Cartman arrived unannounced with a small accompaniment of humans whom Kyle did not recognize by face. Cartman carried an elaborate staff, which Kyle couldn't be sure was recent or old.

"What brings you to my home?" King Kyle asked from his father's throne. He gazed down at the still-fat prince surrounded by his warriors, and Kyle surrounded by his court who watched from the sides. "I daresay you are a year late to offer your condolences for my father."

"And offer them I do," Cartman nodded his head politely, "He hosted us kindly those years ago."

"I have not heard word from your family since."

Cartman sighed heavily, leaning against his staff, "Alas, my father grew ill and passed not long ago. I came with word."

Kyle's eyes narrowed, "I suppose the new king does not wish to make peace. You made your position clear two years ago."

Cartman's lips curled into a smirk, "You are correct, King Kahl." Kyle shuddered at the pronunciation of this name. "I have come to allow you the chance to join my kingdom, bringing with me the wise who did. These are my men who make my greatest strengths."

Cartman gestured to the four who trailed behind him, "Feldspar," Cartman introduced. Each warrior stepped forward and bowed to Kyle. Kyle felt his stomach sinking, "The healer, Token. The great warrior, Tweek, and my greatest paladin, Butters."

Kyle surveyed the band of men before him. They were all well-known as skilled in their crafts. Kyle had reason to worry. "I would deign to join a man who calls a well-known thief one of his greatest allies," Kyle said coldly, "Do not insult me or bid me to fight against my own cousins. I do you honor to hold your audience after the grievances your father caused mine because the sins of the father, are not the sins of the son. If you have no other business, please remove yourself."

"The poisoning of your father is rumored to be self-inflicted after a lifetime of coexistence with a shrew," Cartman snapped, turning red-faced with insult. A great murmur wracked the hall from the other elves.

Kyle stood, enraged, "Leave!"

Cartman turned, stalking our of the throne room. "I had hoped your kingdom would not stand in the way of mine. I bid you well."

Stan had appeared at the throne rooms door, ready to see their unwelcome guests away. Cartman stopped and eyeballed him warily.

"And you," he said to Stan, "There are whispers of a quick-learning ranger who started late and learned much. I could give you more than a life of servitude."

Stan regarded King Cartman and his four warriors evenly, "My family remains broken because of yours," he said, "I would never betray my lord."

"That's right," Cartman laughed hatefully, "The dairy farm."

Stan ushered him away.

Later, after consulting each other in a tangle of sweat, limbs and bed sheets, Stan spoke, "It would be beneficial to join King Cartman. He has many allies."

Kyle shook his head, "I could never align myself with that scum." He flopped against his pillow and stared at his ceiling, "I wish I knew what power he allegedly holds. His staff insinuates magic in his blood."

Stan cleared his throat, turning onto his stomach, "I have been researching legends."

Kyle turned his gaze to the boy on the other side of his bed. Stan continued, prompted.

"There are many stories of items that give motivation to warriors. Most of them parables." Stan said. "I thought the Cartmans would want something more literal, something that could be passed along. King Cartman said a long time ago that their power gives them the ability to see the truth. Most truth-seers are people or oracles, but I didn't think they would put so much faith in a person, or something perishable. Then I found something nearby. A legend within the region."

Kyle nodded and willed Stan to continue.

"The Stick of Truth."

Kyle snorted and looked away, laughing through his nose, "That is a child's story, filled with tales of those who abused their power."

"Is it so ridiculous?" Stan prodded, "Depending on the request, there would be no consequences except for power."

"The resentment of those subjected to such power is a large consequence." Kyle nudged Stan's shoulder with his own, amused.

Stan frowned, "The story is consistent and grand enough the Cartmans would see if such a possibility exists."

Kyle yawned, settling himself, "And where would King Cartman keep this stick of legend?"

Stan sighed, knowing Kyle was humoring him, "The stick has to be nearby. It would be wherever King Cartman resides."

"I will investigate," Kyle said, "To put your mind at ease."

\---  
Like before, King Kyle kept his promise to Stan. He summoned the legendary bard, Jimmy, to infiltrate Cartman's camp and gather information about the stick. He treated Jimmy grandly, feasting with him and allowing Jimmy's servants to celebrate however they saw fit. The flurry of activity and cheer hid the murmurs of their intentions, though Kyle's grim expression betrayed the nature of their conversation.

"My services are for h-h-h. Hire." Jimmy said after being plied with food and wine, "I will do whatever you request. For a p ....price."

"i would give you whatever you ask as long as I have it." Kyle said, leaning on his dining table so they might hear each other. "Word travels that you sympathize with the elves in these dark times."

"Dark times?" Jimmy asked over the finest goblet, "I ... see no dark times here. I believe whatever you... want from me is wholly for your be. Bene. B-b-b. Benefit."

"Is this important to you?" Kyle asked, watching the cripple carefully. Lame in walk, hunchbacked and cross-eyed, Jimmy was very clever with his words and Kyle wouldn't risk unintentionally revealing information.

"How much this matters t-to you matters to m-m-me," Jimmy replied. He lounged in Kyle's great dining chairs, full and comfortable. He waited.

Kyle tapped his fingers against the table, "My ranger believes King Cartman has the Stick of Truth."

Jimmy's eyes darkened, "You would have me steal it?"

"No." Kyle responded, "not alone. I would have you tell me if my ranger is right in his musings. You are known to perform for great men. Though alleged as a sympathizer because you travel with elves, Cartman would be doing a great many an insult to reject you. I want you to perform for him, and discover if his great power lies in magic and mysticism. What comes later will be seen."

Jimmy smiled, hands on his full belly, "A mission I can accept. We will discuss the terms of payment. After my men and I ... have slept."

"Rest and be merry," Kyle said, "You will sleep easy under my ceiling."

___  
Jimmy left for months, occasionally writing of Cartman's conquests and failures, and confirming that magic ran deep in his family.

"King Cartman's followers call him the Wizard King." Jimmy wrote, "I have witnessed his control over the power of fire and his ability to create invisible forces which cripple his foes. From where his powers stem remains to be seen, but King Cartman's might is not to be dismissed."

Kyle read Jimmy's letters with a heavy heart. "He has a better name," Kyle sulked, "And though his allies are fickle, they are many and powerful."

"But no word of the Stick of Truth?" Stan asked, growing impatient with the passing weeks.

"None." Kyle confirmed.

A year passed before Jimmy returned with a simple message

"It exists," Jimmy announced privately, "With small requests King C-cartman has turned the tides of b-battle nearly impercept. Imper. Imperceptibly. Whomever controls the stick controls the out. Outcome. Of all."

"You know this beyond doubt?" Kyle asked, reeling with the possibility of such an item.

"I witnessed its power," said Jimmy, "When K-King Cartman was drunk."

"what did you see, bard?" Kyle asked, mystified.

"We w-willd my stuttered speech away," Jimmy said, looking sad," I-if only for a nigh. N-n-n. Night. It was a moment of peace."

Kyle frowned, "Yet you lay here?"

"He uses the stick for evil," Jimmy said, "I could not with good con ... cious remain with h-h-him."

"I would have you among my allies."

"I must see your act...ions first," Jimmy replied neutrally, "For I act for myself and my m-m-men."

"Of course," Kyle said amiably, "You are welcome here in the meanwhile, should you ever seek my audience."

"Thank you, my lord."

___  
"Can you imagine what we could do with such a power?" Kyle whispered to Stan between their bedsheets. Kyle's expression shifted to worry, "We must take it from him, because he as already abused such strength."

Stan pressed his face to Kyle's shoulder, tilting to kiss his neck, "And what would you do with control over all?"

Kyle shifted, willing himself not to be distracted. He pet Stan's hair, "Ensure justice reigned. Not only the reign of elves - I would see the world happy."

Stan smiled against his skin, "You are idealistic."

Kyle turned his head and pressed his nose against Stan's, staring pointedly, "You have overcome too many things to speak unkindly of idealism."

Stan grinned, "I find my idealism in you," he reached to squeeze Kyle's hip. Kyle wiggled, tickled and unwillingly amused.

"Will you join me in my future battles?" Kyle asked, settling his chin atop Stan's head, "Will you fight alongside my brother and myself, for my father's vengeance and your family's memory?"

"Always, for you," Stan said, drifting, "Only for you, my lord."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* Randy is a geologist.
> 
> *WHISPERS LOUDER* I stole the bear story from War and Peace. Shamelessly.
> 
> Cartman killed his father, if you didn't figure it out. Not Gerald.
> 
> I had to retype this whole thing, looking from my phone, so if you see something please tell me. It took me nine hours to retype this. *sob*


End file.
